To look for her in wandering compassion,

the fold of sleepless eyes,

I could walk into the room

and fall silent and invisible as breath.

I dare wakefulness to damn me.

Tempting as my dreams have become

I pray within them

to find myself on the other side

of the somnolent mirror.

To burn my pillow

and become a pillar of ghost,

to hurry that path that we all tread,

to wonder why no one else is as excited

by these fabulous failures of the heart.

Each night we are lucky to die,

to sail innocent seas,

each morning we are lucky

to still taste their salt on our lips.